Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [30]
"Prince Imriel.”
I started at the priest's voice. He stood waiting, hands folded in the sleeves of his scarlet surplice, attended by a pair of acolytes carrying the implements of his office. I guessed him to be around Joscelin's age, although he had the sort of smooth, tranquil features that made it hard to tell. His hair was ash-brown and it fell straight and shining to his waist.
"My lord priest." I approached the altar and knelt, setting down the birdcage. "I come to make an offering.”
"Why?”
The priest's eyes were a sooty grey, long-lashed and disconcerting in their openness. I rubbed my palms on my thighs. "Because I fear I may have transgressed unwittingly," I said slowly. "And I wish her grace upon me.”
"Do you?" he asked steadily. "It may come at a price.”
"I know." I glanced involuntarily at Joscelin. "Yes.”
"Then let it be done." The priest took an aspergillum from one of his acolytes and dipped it in a basin of water, flicking me with droplets, then smeared chrism on my brow. "By Naamah's sacred river, be cleansed of all transgressions," he intoned. "By the touch of anointment, be blessed in Naamah's sight." He nodded at me. "Make your offering.”
Kneeling, I opened the cage. The dove huddled at the bottom, round eyes wary. I cupped her in my hands, mindful of the fragile bones, the swift-beating heart. "Forgive me," I whispered to her. "I know how it feels.”
When I stood and opened my hands, two things happened. The dove launched herself in frantic flight toward the oculus, and the cloud-bank overhead passed. An unexpected blaze of sunlight once more streamed down upon us, broken only by a wild flurry of beating wings as the dove winged its way free of the temple. I felt my heart soar and laughed aloud for the sheer joy of it.
"Naamah is pleased." The priest's grey eyes crinkled. "Are you?”
"Yes," I said simply.
"Good." He bowed to Phèdre. "Well met, my lady.”
She smiled at him. "Do you not remember me, Raphael Murain? Somehow, I'm not surprised to find you here.”
The priest laughed. "I didn't think you'd remember me.”
Something passed between them; a shared memory. Joscelin raised his brows and offered no comment. We took our leave of the temple and lingered for a moment in the gardens outside. I gazed at the roosting doves and tried to guess which one was mine, but they all looked more or less alike.
"I could never tell," Phèdre said, guessing my thoughts.
"It's funny, isn't it?" I mused. "The vendors breed them in order to sell them to supplicants to set them free. And yet, if there were no temple, there would be no need for cages in the first place.”
"True," Phèdre agreed. "The will of the gods is strange.”
I glanced at her. "Was he a patron?”
"Raphael?" She looked surprised and amused. "Oh, no. I was. He was an adept of Gentian House." She laughed at my expression. "Ah, love! It was a long time ago, and I'd need of counsel in the matter of a dream. Speaking of which, I think I've found somewhat that you and Alais might find of interest.”
"Oh?" I said. "What?”
"A story about a bear.”
When we returned to the townhouse, she showed me. It was in a text by the Tiberian historian Caledonius, who had served as a military tribune in Alba during the uprising of the Cruithne under the leadership of Cinhil Ru. I knew that story, of course. Cinhil Ru was the first Cruarch of Alba. He united the multitude of warring tribes and made a pact with the Dalriada. They defeated the Tiberian forces occupying Alba and drove them out, across the Straits, never to return. Drustan mab Necthana was descended from his line; and so, for that matter, were Sidonie and Alais.
This began earlier, though.
It was an account of entertainment gone badly awry. The Governor of Alba had staged public games to keep his men entertained, and bear-baiting was a common sport in